


Your Old Man

by Duck_Life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Father Figures, Father's Day, Gen, Post Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:44:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both of them lost their fathers, but maybe they can stand in for each other's. Oneshot. Please R&R!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Old Man

Krissy Chambers doesn’t live at the bunker with Sam and Dean. She has a set of clothes there and some of the books in the library are hers, but she doesn’t live there, and one of the spare rooms is technically hers but _she doesn’t live there_ , because living there would require the acknowledgement that she lives with the Winchesters as if she needs some kind of parental supervision which she _definitely does not_ , so she doesn’t live there.

She _does_ , however, visit quite frequently because Cas is entertaining and Dean’s a hell of a cook and, dammit, underground secret society bunkers are pretty friggin’ cool, and it’s on one of these visits that she ends up roped into a conversation with Dean about fathers.

They’re at the table, working on this art project where she has to construct a collage from newspapers and magazines to represent something or someone she’s lost, and naturally she picked her dad, and naturally the last thing she wanted to do was ask for _Dean’s_ help because, hell, if anyone can talk about losing something or someone, it’s Dean Winchester. Her alternative options were Sam (who might just be the only other person in the universe who’s lost as much as if not _more_ than Dean) and Castiel, and no way was she bringing up loss to the guy who basically (as it had been explained to her) lost everything that made him _him_.

Really, she would’ve preferred to just do the project herself and stew in her own sadness instead of inflicting it on anyone else, but for an expert knife-wielder she’s crap with scissors and needs someone else to keep the edges neat, and so it’s Dean who sits down with her Friday afternoon and starts carefully cutting out an ad for a car that kind of looks like the one Krissy’s dad drove.

“What even represents a dad?” she asks at one point, exhausted from sifting through glossy models trying to find pictures of guns and hot dogs and other such Dad-memorabilia.

“Hell if I know,” Dean grunts, dropping the picture of the car onto a sloppy pile beside a stiff piece of construction paper. “I mean, my dad wasn’t exactly a _dad_ dad, he was more like… like a Captain von Trapp dad.”

“Who?” Krissy doesn’t look up from her magazine. Dean looks mortified.

“The von Trapps?” he says, sounding personally wounded at her ignorance. “From _The Sound of_ …” seeing Krissy’s cocked eyebrow and oncoming smirk, he abruptly corrects, “Spinal Tap,” while she rolls her eyes at him. “Okay, but the point is, Dad never did _dad_ stuff with us, so I don’t know how to help you, kiddo. That’s the life.”

“Yeah, but my dad was in the life and still did ‘dad’ stuff,” she continues, leafing through the final pages. “Like, smiley face pancakes, teaching me to play catch.” When Dean makes a noncommittal sound and starts reaching for a car catalogue, she stares at him. “Did you not play catch?”

After shifting uncomfortably, he tells her, “Once,” and they drop it, Krissy continuing her work in silence.

The next day (because yeah, she slept over that night but that doesn’t mean she lives there), Krissy digs out an old baseball and gloves from one of the many dusty rooms, because apparently some of the Men of Letters had kids. She presents her finds to Dean like they’re rare treasures.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks over the top of his coffee cup, sounding wary.

“Well, I figured,” she says, tossing him the bigger of the two gloves, “since you never got to do dad stuff, you could do it now. I could be your dad.”

Despite that no-bullshit tone she’s using that she usually reserves for monsters and Aiden, Dean tries to intercept her. “Look, Krissy-”

“No backtalk,” she says, smacking the baseball against the inside of her glove threateningly. “Let’s go play catch, son.”

At first it’s dumb, and they both kind of think so, but Krissy Chambers is a force of nature when she’s determined, and so they keep at it, tossing and catching and diving on the grassy area right outside the bunker, beside the road. A couple times Dean’s worried that she’s going to dive right into the way of oncoming traffic, but eventually they pick up a rhythm that’s safe enough, her pitching with the experienced aim of someone who’d played softball for six years straight, him relying on his hunter’s reflexes to help him out but usually missing the ball by inches.

Nevertheless, Krissy keeps up a constant stream of encouragement, almost like a real father, and while Dean didn’t really expect the little game to amount to anything, he can’t deny that it’s nice hearing “Good job, Dean” and “You’re getting better” and “Try flicking your wrist more, you’ll get it” instead of the barked commands he’d come to associate with fatherhood.

Eventually, of course, Sam gets home and starts in on his “Hey Dean, remember how it’s a _secret_ underground bunker?” and they get herded inside. Dean makes a mental note to thank Krissy which will in all likelihood never be followed, and Krissy makes a few more paternal jabs at him that Sam doesn’t get.

Before she goes to bed, Krissy calls to Dean jokingly that tomorrow they’ll tackle biking and he just gives her a blank look. “You’re kidding,” she says, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t know how to ride a bike?”

“To be fair,” says Cas from across Dean’s seat at the table, “I don’t either.”

“Yeah, but you have an excuse,” says Krissy. “Until recently you were a wavelength of celestial intent. Dean’s just lazy.”

“I resent that,” he calls after her as she jaunts back to her room (because yeah, it actually is _her_ room, because maybe she’s got a home with Aiden and Josephine but they’ve got their friends and niches outside of the three of them and she’s got the Winchesters, and maybe she needs them too, and maybe they need her.)

At any rate, the not-so-secret bunker that’s maybe-not-quite her home could do with some refurbishing, and maybe a rack for the bike she’s going to bully Dean into getting, and teach him how to ride it the way her father taught her. 


End file.
